


Breathe

by cowgirldressage1



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 5,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirldressage1/pseuds/cowgirldressage1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments in Spock's tenure on the Enterprise where he realizes how important James T. Kirk is to him.  These are short drabbles, hitting key episodes and movies. Every time you see the word "breathe."  assume Spock is taking a deep breath.  Each is a stand alone, some are more poignant than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Space Seed

**Author's Note:**

> Paramount, its heirs and assigns, own Star Trek. I make no profit therein.

1.22 Space Seed

Breathe.

This man is powerful. He is a danger to his Captain, strong, clever, and dominant. He probes and tests for weakness. He would conquer Jim and the Enterprise, if he could.

This ship and its Captain are his. They are home. He will protect them both for as long as he lives.

Breathe.

This man would kill Jim, crush him. He watches him struggle for air and his fear eclipses his anger. He is next. It is of little consequence if he dies at Khan’s hand. 

If Jim is dead, his obligation is to protect the ship. He will do what he must even if his fate is to die.

Breathe.

Again Jim beats the odds. He will never bow to defeat. Even a superman cannot destroy him. Clever Captain.

He marvels at Jim’s inherent kindness. Logic dictates that the Botany Bay should be destroyed or at least sent somewhere where it would do no further harm. There is an itch, a premonition. They would see Khan again and he will break them.

Breathe.

Who is he? What is he, that he commands my emotions so easily? I am drawn out, I am bare. I am ashamed.

Breathe.


	2. City on The Edge of Forever

Breathe.

Time ends. The Guardian sends them to the past, a dark and primitive place. They rely on each other heavily and in unanticipated ways. Jim sees constantly to his needs, from tools to respite from the cold. 

They cannot stay here. They might change the shape of time for all eternity. He will become dangerous. If he cannot return home, if his body betrays him, Jim will have to kill him in order to protect himself. 

Breathe.

He is frustrated. He doesn’t have the technology to find the information they need. Jim is disappointed in him. He is failing. 

He watches Jim sleep, his chest rising and falling. He feels warmth spreading through him. Tenderness? A bone deep appreciation of this bright being?

Breathe.

She is beautiful, kind, and brave. Her sacrifices, her shining hope for the future are utterly irresistible to Jim. He takes her arm. He draws her close. He loves her.

He loves her.

Breathe.

There is pain. He is surprised at his reaction. Why should this hurt? If Jim loves . . . oh, Jim loves, but not him, never him. He is alone with his tasks and his duty. 

Breathe.

When she dies, he mourns. This is the death of hope, the death of love. He can feel Jim’s pain as though it was something tangible. Only he knows the depth of it. Only he shares the knowledge of it. Once again, Jim has only him to turn to. They will never speak of it again.

Breathe.

I have been selfish. I want Jim for myself, his warm regard, his affection, and his friendship. If she had been destined to live, Jim would have turned from the Enterprise and me. He deserves to find happiness. My jealousy has no place here.


	3. Amok Time

Breathe.

He is irritated. These weak humans are inefficient and illogical. They make errors no sentient being should. They try to engage him, constantly provoking him, offering him a poor parody of a childhood dish when they cannot possibly understand the symbolism.

Breathe.

He is angry. Each interaction causes fury to rise and blaze so hot; he can taste it on the back of his tongue. He must control it but his hands clench and tremble with the effort.

He must go home. He must quench this flame in the body of his bond mate; she, who is so cold, and shamed by the thin thread that binds them together.

Breathe.

The air on Vulcan is hot, thin, and dry. The man facing him with the lirpa will die by his hand. Soon. The fever has burned away his memory of him. All that is left is red; red sky, red dust, red blood.

Red blood.

Breathe.

I never thought I would see Jim again. I never thought I could take my own life, but I considered it. But no, my continued existence, my constant pain and shame would fit the crime. 

I never thought I could feel such joy and relief when I heard his voice and saw his beloved face.

Breathe.


	4. The Apple

Breathe.

There is blackness in the corners of his mind. He can no longer feel his limbs. Weight presses on his chest, a rock compressing him slowly, relentlessly.

Breathe.

Voices are far away, too far away to understand. They are asking him, telling him, but the sounds make no sense.

Breathe.

A hiss of a hypo spray. The familiar sting is absent. He can feel his arms and legs now, heavy and unresponsive. The rock on his chest grows lighter. The voices become clearer.

“Breathe god damn it!”

Instinctively he takes a deep breath and  
darkness fades away. Opening his eyes, he sees the doctor’s face, captured in worry. He sits up and sees the seeds from the deadly plant, still embedded in his chest. Jim puts his hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

Breathe.

He touches me and I feel the bright edges of his mind.

Breathe.


	5. The Deadly Years

Breathe.

Radiation has poisoned all of them. Jim ages, graying, his body beginning to stoop. He grows more and more confused. He wonders, as Jim slips into the muddle of his own mind, would this be his fate, as he grows old? To lose that brightness is unimaginable.

Breathe.

Jim attacks him, betrayal flowing over him and around him. He strikes out in pain, the light fading from his eyes, the strength draining from his body. Only his indomitable will is left.

He is his Captain and friend. Jim’s hard words cannot touch him. They are meaningless. He is not himself.

Breathe.

Jim struggles to track the logic of the hearing. This brilliant man is overcome by arguments that he easily would have defeated two days ago. It is agony to watch. Jim rails against the pity. He hates it. He hates them. He hates himself most of all.

His own body slows. If he were better, stronger, cleverer, he could defend his Captain. He was never good enough.

Breathe.

When Jim returns to himself, he is shamed by his own joy. He realizes he has no defenses to this man. He begins to understand Jim means more to him than any other being.

Breathe.

You are forgiven, for growing old, for striking out, for loving the Enterprise, placing her above all else. 

You are forgiven for everything.

Breathe.


	6. Babel

2.15 Babel 

Breathe.

Jim’s blood pools on the deck. The Andorian spy is unconscious beside him. The doctor desperately tries to prevent Jim from bleeding out from the knife wound.

Breathe.

The operating theatre is tense as the doctor repairs the damage. Jim is strong but he looks too young and vulnerable lying on the surgical bed under the sterile blue light.

Breathe.

It takes too much control not to crush the Andorian’s throat. He needs to be in Sick Bay, not fighting unknown ships from the Bridge. His father needs him, as he never has before. He wants to see Jim, reassuring himself that he is well, that he will live. Despite the doctor’s assurances, he is afraid, cold and alone.

Breathe.

Jim’s bright presence warms him. The Bridge sings with relief as Jim takes his chair. Relief is illogical but he doesn’t care.

Breathe.

Half conscious. He struggles upward fighting the anesthesia. Jim is in danger. The ship and everyone he loves in this Universe can be saved if he can only tell them . . . tell Jim . . . about . . . and the thread is gone.

Breathe.

I never told him. I pretend to engage in easy banter with my parents as witnesses. I could have lost him and he would never have known.

Breathe.


	7. Paradise Syndrome

Breathe.

This place is beautiful. It sings to Jim of freedom and peace. It is a deadly place.

He is gone. They search everywhere, use the power of a starship and find nothing. They have no time. The asteroid will obliterate this planet, its inhabitants and Jim.

Breathe.

They leave Jim behind. Enterprise has the power to save him, save these peaceful people. Pushed too hard, the beautiful crystals that power her, crack and shatter. Time is of the essence but he can do nothing more.

He is willing to take the blame for the decision. He is willing to do anything, sacrifice anything, to get Jim back.

Jim must come back. He must not leave him trapped between the stars.

Breathe.

He places the Enterprise between Jim and harm, letting the ship protect her Captain, her power, strength, technology at his disposal. All the sacrifices Jim has made for her, over the years, surely she can do this one thing. 

He will evacuate the crew, he will strip her bare and the two of them will offer themselves as a sacrifice. Jim won’t ever know the nights he keeps her company, walking her halls, seeking a solution. She is all he has left of Jim. He will destroy her if he has to.

Breathe.

59.223 days left. Enterprise is a cripple, limping through space, held together by sheer will. He can’t sleep; he can’t eat, caught in waking dreams of Jim. The symbols of the obelisk sing their songs. 

Breathe.

No time left. Jim lies unconscious, his woman by his side. He fuses his mind with Jim, integrating every thought and memory. She is pregnant. If she lives, he will have lost Jim as surely as if the asteroid had destroyed this planet. If she lives.

Breathe.

She died in Jim’s arms. I felt it as clearly as if I were there myself. The fusion between us has caused the barest thread of a new bond. It is as bright as Jim is. It is as bright as the tears in Jim’s eyes.

Breathe.


	8. Empath

Breathe.

 

The Vians took him away. He has tried every avenue to find Jim but the technology defeats him. He pushes down his fear, if Jim returns, no, when he returns, he will need him.

Breathe.

Jim lies broken on the bed. Each breath is agony. He is beyond speech. The doctor can do little. The Vians want to test his limits. Gem reveals what must not be revealed when she touches his shoulder.

Breathe.

They bicker, argue to forget their fear that Jim will either succumb to his injuries or be taken again and damaged beyond what the doctor can repair. 

Treachery. He slides into unconsciousness with the hiss of the hypo spray.

Breathe.

They are uncomfortable with each other. All three have revealed too much. He is shamed. He feels so much; anger, regret, fear, hatred . . . love. His controls are shattering as he watches Jim push his chess piece into a trap. He can’t. He can’t hurt him, even if he knows Jim enjoys the surprise of losing.

Breathe.

I want him. I want to sink into his mind, to be one with him. I cannot allow emotions to overcome me. He is not for me. I am not for him.


	9. Plato's Stepchildren

Breathe.

This feels wrong. These people are wrong. There is a taint that permeates this place. He feels compulsion, pressing the back of his mind.

He is forced. They make him experience that which he cannot bear. He laughs, he cries.

He cries out, grief swamping him. He might hurt these men he loves and protects. He feels uncontrolled emotion burning through him.

He feels.

Breathe.

He must control. He is becoming dangerous, predictable in his anger and fear. 

Breathe.

His friends are ripped from the ship and offered like sacrifices to their bizarre desires. He cannot prevent what they will him to do. He touches her too intimately, destroying the fragile trust between them. He feels her break beneath him.

Breathe.

He can barely contain himself. He wants to kill them, rip them to pieces. They destroy his family, his friends, and his home. There is no punishment great enough. 

Breathe.

I am ashamed that I could not fight them. I am afraid that I harmed these fragile humans, whose trust I guard and keep. 

Breathe.


	10. Requiem

Breathe.

They are a plague ship. Slow death awaits all of them. He is not immune. He does not fear for himself, he would welcome death as an ally, a friend, if it would only spare Jim.

Breathe.

This man, this ancient creature, who has seen so much, built so much, created such beauty, has grown cold and calculating. He would deny them what they need in exchange for his ward’s education. 

She beguiles Jim. She is so lovely and graceful. Not like him. She challenges Jim’s mind, her intellect and control are flawless. Not like him. She is beautiful and desirable. Not like him.

Breathe.

Can he be jealous of a machine? Can Jim prefer this android to him, a living breathing creature, who already loves him? Would he also self-destruct if he were forced to choose between being Vulcan and loving Jim?

Breathe.

In the end, my task was simple, my solution elegant. Jim would forget his pain and his love for another.

Breathe.


	11. All Our Yesterdays

Breathe.

He should have known Sarpeidon was abandoned. He should have protected Jim from the past. He should have kept the doctor safe from this frozen world. He should have realized many things.

Breathe.

Jim is lost. They must make a life here in this waste. The doctor is so very ill, he grieves for him, he is afraid for him. 

She offers him sustenance. He eats. She offers him warmth. He is comforted. She gives herself to him and he takes. He knows this is not who he wants, but he cannot remember. She is a bright ribbon of life. He wraps himself in her and around her.

Breathe.

He is not himself. He feels. He feels a spike of fear when he remembers, clutching his friend in blind fury. They must get back. They have to get back to Jim, his shield brother, his T’hyla.

At the portal, he tries to send the doctor through without him. He wants to return but is torn in two directions. One path leads to Jim, the other to a worthy mate, one who loves him so simply and easily. If he stays, he need never face his fear of losing himself in Jim.

Breathe.

Of course I returned, leaving her and her dreams behind. Of course I returned to Jim.


	12. Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit explicit. It is not based on the episodes.

Breathe.

Jim asks, he demands, he requires such emotion to sustain him.

He can strip himself bare; show him the secret part of himself. He is ashamed yet it is not enough, never enough.

He has no resources to protect himself from Jim’s onslaught. He cannot allow himself to open to his lover, he cannot lose control.

Breathe.

Jim loves him. His mind is a bright beacon, calling him, seducing him. 

He fails, over and over, to cross the chasm of Jim’s emotions. He fails Jim emotionally, intellectually, finally, physically. He has shut down everything just to survive to the next day.

Breathe.

There is one haven left. There is a place in his mind, in his heart, on Vulcan, where he can find solace. This primary instinct, to survive at all costs, will be the death of him, the death of love. All that he is can be buried in the sands of Gol.

The doctor fights him, fights for him, arguing for his human half, for Jim’s survival. He is deaf, he cannot hear.

His father argues, logically, relentlessly, advocating for the part of him he previously reviled and rejected. He is deaf, he cannot hear.

Jim sits in silence, blasted. He has no words, just his eyes, which track his every movement as he collects his irrelevant possessions, preparing to leave the only home he has ever known, the only one he has ever loved. 

He is deaf.

Breathe.

I stand at Gol. They will heal me. They will burn away my humanity with the cold fire of logic. I will do more than forget, I will render love irrelevant. I am deaf to my soul’s cry.

Breathe.


	13. Gol

Breathe.

Gol is a cold place on this furnace of a planet. It exists in one’s mind; it captures one’s soul and extinguishes it.

He frames each lesson in his mind, closing off the memories and emotions behind an impenetrable door. It is a simple task, but rendered almost impossible by his love.

Love. So human an emotion. So Vulcan an emotion. So powerful, it swamps him and his resolve.

Breathe.

Each step he takes, desiccates him. Each twisted road he travels, unravels him. 

Parched, he reaches within himself, unable to nourish his love. Parched, he buries it deep within himself. 

This place is a kind of death.

Breathe.

The cold light of logic is transcendent. He follows its lines, barricading his heart, his soul. There is peace in this death of emotion. He will not fail, not at this. For the first time, his failures are irrelevant, regret is irrelevant. He experiences no pride in his success.

Breathe.

I should have extinguished my emotions, my love. Behind the wall my mind created, they lay, waiting for his call.

When it came, Jim’s mind reaching toward me, like an embrace, without a care, I left this barren place and eagerly sought him. My first and only duty is to keep him safe. This I will always do. This I must do.

Breathe.


	14. Star Trek the Movie

Star Trek the Movie

Breathe.

 

On the sands of Gol, he is shattered like the token, representing both his servitude and his accomplishment. Jim calls, though he barely hears him. Jim demands, as he always has. He responds, as he always will.

He is able to calculate to the second how long it has been since he has seen the faces of his family, on this ship. He could calculate the distance from Jim as he exits the turbo lift, but it brings them no closer. He is here, where he should be, where he must be. It is no longer enough.

Breathe.

Jim asks. He denies. Jim demands. He prevaricates. The truth, his truth, he holds close. 

It calls to him, with sentience, with longing. He answers with logic, an inescapable curiosity.

Jim follows, as he must, embolden by duty, by love. He regrets putting him in danger. He fears. Jim is more important than any truth he could learn at V’ger’s feet.

When reality is rendered silent by input and output, by binary logic, he rests. Only Jim’s hand on his shoulder. Only Jim’s hand in his.

This simple feeling, he cannot express. This love, he cannot deny. Jim holds him and gives all that he is. This time, it is enough. He understands.

Breathe.

His tears herald V’ger’s birth. He cannot deny the beauty of its mind, and its soul. He cannot deny regret at the loss of life and love. He is made whole by such sacrifices.

Breathe.

I am selfish. I want. I need. Each moment, each pulse, draws us closer. I am undone, by your sacrifice, by your desire, by your love. Complete, we are a force, more powerful than any V’ger could imagine. Complete, we are, you and I.

Breathe.


	15. Bonded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not an episode, but hey, it had to happen sometime.

Breathe.

One and together, they are. On red sands, they pledge their lives. On red sands, he promises to trust Jim, to stay with him always. 

Jim has reached the core of him. He embraces Jim, trusting finally, the truth of what they are.

Breathe.

When they join under the relentless sun, these men and women, who he also loves, take their hands and rejoice with them. He and Jim are the emotional center, spinning together; throwing light that illuminates even the dark corners of their minds. He is unafraid.

Alone, finally, they find the rhythm of their lives. He reaches, with ease, for Jim, a finger’s breadth away. Jim responds, as he always has, with courage. He is loved. He loves.

Breathe.

Whatever may happen, I stand with you. Wherever you go, I am your shadow. When others try to pry us apart, with claws and teeth, I am at your side. My words are inadequate. You are mine.

Breathe.


	16. Sa'avik

Breathe.

He finds her, like refuse, abandoned. She is a wild thing, untamed, beautiful. She has a duality he can understand. She is the child of his heart, if not his body. She fulfills that which he lacks, what he never thought he required. 

Breathe.

Jim doesn’t understand, driven by his own ambition. His father doesn’t understand, obsessed by his limited vision. His mother understands and offers comfort, support. They are content, they two.

Breathe.

She grows like the ‘waneti’ flower, lovely, relentless, overcoming all obstacles, in his heart, in his life.

It is with inappropriate pride, he watches as she masters each step, climbs each wall, and destroys each barrier with the ease of youth. She is a brilliant star. She is his child.

Breathe.

He loves her as he never loved Jim, for she needs him, as Jim does not. He loves her because she reflects him, like a dark mirror. They are not the same though; he could never match her innocence, her purity.

Jim holds himself apart, driving his brilliant mind into useless tasks that wear on him, a sodden mass, dragging him down to a painful chasm. 

Breathe.

I wish I could show him how lovely she is. I wish I could share her with him. We are disparate. Our lives separate, in this, and this only.

Breathe.


	17. Wrath of Khan

Breathe.

He catalogues each fine line, where once it was firm and smooth. He runs his fingers through coarse dark hair, curly now with age, where once it was silky and light. He traces patterns in soft flesh, evidence of strong desires and a life well lived, where once it was taut and strong. These changes remind him unerringly that Jim is aging, that he will out live him. He cannot imagine life without Jim. He will not.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” The sentiment is intended and true. Jim pulls away, mired in and by politics, purposelessness, boredom. Their lives are filled with unintended contention. If he could give him any gift, it would be the gift of love and happiness. He is unsuited to the task.

Breathe

He watches his child with great satisfaction. Satisfaction born of a life carefully orchestrated and love, cautiously given. She sees his ship as a beacon, an opportunity, and a chance. He sees her as the embodiment of the future, building on structures he and Jim created long ago.

There is a moment, when Jim sees her worth. He is warmed that two sides of him come together. He is chilled by a premonition of disaster. Leave it to Jim. He has always protected what was his. He trusts Jim will keep them all safe, as he always has.

Breathe.

It is shocking to meet Jim’s son. He sees little resemblance to Jim as a young man he knew so many years ago. It is painful to think, she who loved Jim so little, would give him that which he could not. He feels a brief flash of anger that Jim could not love even his own child, much less his daughter in all but name.

Breathe.

He feels a thrill of pride, Jim, once again as his Captain, brilliantly crosses swords with Khan. If nothing else, this battle of wills and weaponry brings Jim alive, as he hasn’t been for many years. Whatever the cost, he would see him live again. Whatever is required, he will give it, if Jim comes back to him, to the ship.

Breathe.

She is wounded. She breaks. She cries out, metal screaming, for someone to save her. She will die and take all these precious lives within her, with her. This he will not allow. This he cannot allow.

Behind the glass, is his death. Before the glass, is his friend. He is a healer in every sense of the word, tending to his pain, listening to his pleas, comforting him when Jim could not, would not. With regret, he causes the doctor additional agonies, wrenched from his soul, pulled from his mind and heart.

Breathe.

Finally, she is healed. He senses she is safe. At last, her precious cargo is out of harm’s way. He can rest.

He feels Jim pressed against the glass, but he cannot see him. He feels Jim’s hand reaching for him, but he cannot touch him. He feels Jim’s heart breaking but cannot regret his sacrifice, for they are safe. 

Pressed against the glass, he leans into Jim’s last touch, unfeeling and blind. His last words are inadequate to the task. His last act is selfish; he will never watch Jim grow old. 

Breathe.

I choose not to acknowledge the pain that takes my life. I choose not to consider the pain this act has caused. I am at rest. My heart slows. My body stops. My breath . . .


	18. Search for Spock

Breathe.

In the end, Death is rarely painless. Nerves fire like cannons until cells are rendered silent. 

The mind’s focus narrows until it is a thread, where once it was a rich tapestry. 

There are two paths, one to oblivion, and the other to the murky solace within the mind of a friend. 

Oblivion offers peace but also silence and solitude. The other’s mind offers confusion and pain but at least he is not alone.

He is once again a child, afraid of the dark, lonely, and full of unfulfilled dreams.

There is no real choice.

Breathe.

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.   
The bright sun was extinguish'd,   
And the stars  did wander darkling in the eternal space,    
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth    
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;

Lord Byron

It is a mindless, soulless child that wanders Genesis, searching for anything to anchor him, succor him. The child lives though, he breathes, his heart beats, he needs . . . something. He cannot form the thought or want.

He grows, as children do, too fast, limbs deforming side by side with the aging planet.   
He grows, as children do, to experience life and death, measured in minutes and hours, rather than years.

One could say he felt no pain, no longing, abandoned as he was. That would be a lie.

Breathe.

How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner   
As he bends in still grief o'er the hallowed bier,

Percy Shelly

The doctor is so blinded by his own pain, he can’t see. He is tortured by confusion and grief, he can’t be comforted . He is ravaged by memories, not his own. He manages only the most tenuous hold on sanity. 

There is no place where Jim can retreat, so deeply wounded he is in his heart and soul. There is no opportunity to rest, each moment conspiring with uncounted memories to keep him from sleep. He can offer no wisdom, no comfort, no solace to anyone, not even himself. He mourns and grieves with a depth that surprises him.   
He never knew.   
He never knew.

Breathe.

O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done,   
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,

Walt Whitman

Jim always believed that death was final, eternal. He believed not in heaven or hell, but oblivion. It had been his companion, his enemy, and his trusted friend. 

Death came for his son, embraced him just once and carried him away. Death came for his friend, held him briefly in its arms, and released him.

Grief and hope sit side by side, fractured like crystal, their mirrored shards cutting him. There is little comfort standing next to them. They offer no answers.

Breathe.

 

A great Hope fell  
You heard no noise  
The Ruin was within  
Oh cunning wreck that told no tale  
And left no Witness in.

Emily Dickinson

He sees her last flight, shooting across the sky, a brief spark before she turns to ashes. She is starlight. She is home. She was everything he ever wanted or dreamed of. Now, as death takes her too, rage burns hot, pain burns cold. Revenge is all he has left.

Breathe.

I awaken to the cool press of minds, sorting through the fog in my head. I awaken to the cool press of hands, their joy burning through my confusion and fear.

I do not remember the journey they describe. I cannot recall the memories of their faces. 

I remember only one thing.

Jim.

His name is Jim.

Breathe.


	19. The Voyage Home

Breathe.

Nothing is familiar, nothing resonates. The dry air burns, even the colors of the sky are wrong. Only one thing, one person holds his attention. Among the creatures swarming the alien ship below is the one. He draws his eye, a beacon.

She, who is his mother, offers no answers to his questions. He, who is his father, is unresponsive to his inquiries. Only the cold circuits of the computer ask and answer but cannot touch him.

Breathe.

Jim comes to him finally, offering everything, answering nothing. It is enough that he grasps his hands, murmuring words that meant something once, but he can’t quite recall. He knows only that this bright force will leave soon, leave him behind to heal. This cannot be.

He steps aboard, welcomed by every hand. He leaves his planet, but not his home. He leaves his parents and his daughter, never truly his family as Jim is. He follows instinct bred in his bones. 

Breathe.

They fall into the past, a maelstrom of light and sound. They find chaos, a primitive world, a caricature of the City they know. But there is honesty here among bustling streets, cacophonous voices, and strange customs. Jim never leaves his side and he begins to believe his worth.

The cetaceans they search for humble him by their attachment to each other. He wonders if he and Jim had ever been so tightly bound. Jim says nothing but he feels the pressure of his emotions against his mind. Memories slip by, prompted by the smell of spray in the air, the graceful lines of the Bridge on the horizon, and the memory of tomatoes reeking of basil, drowning a dinner, long ago in this very city.

It is an abrupt emotion, this compassion for his crewmates, the whales, the City itself. It begins to integrate into his mind and there are moments when he remembers, but the memories disappear like the fog shrouding Golden Gate Park. He is reminded to let it be.

Breathe.

They are home. The trial, Jim’s trial, cannot break the bonds woven over a career. He stands with his crew. He stands with his commanding officer. They take everything away and then give it back, a gift to Jim, a silver ship, to protect and guide. He can feel Jim’s blinding joy. He will travel at Jim’s side, as he was intended to, as he must. Jim is his.

Breathe.

Not all is recalled, it will come, perhaps with time. I remember the joys and sorrows, the love and anger, the petty disagreements and the bursts of desire. We are one, once again, on stage to begin our lives once again.


	20. Final Frontier

His memory is imperfect. He remembers conifers rising to the sky. He remembers mountains, craggy, rough, granite spires. They are Jim’s memories, Jim’s love. They fill him with peace and satisfaction, if only because Jim loves them.

Jim toys with life. He plays god with his existence. He usually wins this game of chance, with life, with death.

Breathe.

It is agony to see his brother again. Their history is wrought with emotion. His emotion is appropriate, Sybok would appreciate it, does, in fact feel it in the emotional plain of their familiar familial bond. 

Again, his brother over reaches. Again, his brother pushes beyond that which is sacred, sacrosanct. Again, his brother errs. His brilliance is his strength and weakness. He is awed though, by the power of Sybok’s mind.

He sees his own weakness. He sees his strength in his Human and Vulcan DNA. He has moved beyond both.

Breathe.

He has always doubted. There is no God, God is dead. Beaten into him as a child, he hid his suspicions, further proof he is not truly Vulcan. But God, in this case, is not real. The God of Shakari is a false god, rendering all his doubts moot. 

Sybok is dead. He feels his pain and disappointment. He feels his pride that he could give his life to protect one he loved. His brother is one of the bravest beings he had ever known. 

Breathe.

In the end, Sybok saved Jim. He offered his life so that mine could continue. I believe he knew what Jim was to me even though we have been apart for so long, even though Sybok lived apart. I will miss him as part of my very soul. I will miss him as being who is integral to my existence. 

He is not forgotten. He is not unmourned.

Breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to review each as a stand alone or as a whole. It is now in chonologcial order. It will be complete with Into Darkness.


End file.
